Unsolvable
by hanns
Summary: A dead-end case baffles Greg and Grissom when a kidnaped victim turns up alive, just when everyone was convinced she was dead. Greg seems to be a little more interested in finding out what happened than he should be.
1. Surprise Return

Everyone expected she was dead. Even her parents thought so. She was only in her early twenties, so there wasn't much hope for her to be smart enough to escape a psycho. 

Or so they thought.

It was June 13th, and Greg Sanders just turned on the news.

"This just in, the girl who was kidnaped six weeks ago has turned up alive."

Her picture showed up on the screen and Greg's jaw dropped to the floor. It was the case he had been stuck on. The case he and Grissom had been stuck on. Tracy Myers was supposed to have died. It's what the kidnapperclaimed in his ransom note. It's what everyone thought. The family had already picked out a coffin for heras soon as her body turned up.

"The tables had turned for her kidnapper. Myers single-handedly tricked him when she begged to use a gas station washroom and got the store clerk to call the cops. She seems too shocked to say anything about the past six weeks. No one has a clue what happened to her."

At that, Greg's phone rang on him.

"Talk to me," he said nonchalantly into the phone.

"Greg, it's me."

It was Grissom.

"So you heard?"

"About Tracy? Yeah, of course I have. You know I always watch the news."

"Right."

"Isn't it amazing? We can finally crack this dead end case."

"Yeah... _and _that she had enough courage to get the store clerk to call the cops."

"It's been done before, Greg."

A sigh from Greg.

"See you later?"

"Tomorrow, Greg."

"Okay, love you too."

Greg hung up before Grissom could reply. He always did that to bug him. But for some strange reason that Greg didn't get, Grissom was annoyed by it.

"Morning, Gris," Greg said, strolling into the lab where Grissom and Sara were. He noticed something was different and realized he'd just ruined "a moment of theirs."

_Nice timing, Greg_, he thought to himself.

"Where did you ever get the idea that you could call me 'Gris'?" Grissom asked, annoyed as usual.

"Sorry," Greg mumbled.

"See you guys later," Sara said, focusing only on Grissom.

"Ooh, Grissom and Sara, sitting in a tree," Greg cooed.

"What are you talking about?" Grissom asked, giving Greg the same old "you're so weird" look, although he knew perfectly well what Greg was talking about.

"Nothing," Greg said, and added quietly, "Lover boy."

Grissom didn't hear the last remark.

"I'll go call Tracy and ask her to come in for questioning."

"All righty boss," Greg said, saluting him out of the lab. He sat back in his chair and lifted up a photo off the table in front of him. It was a recent picture of Tracy Myers, two days before her disappearance. Greg always thought she was pretty. She looked just like a model, being so thin and so tall. She had long brown hair and brown eyes, and apparently always scribbled things down in a notebook. She majored in English and studied to become a writer. Her father described her as an "old soul." Her mother wanted her to become a model, but Tracy always turned model scouts down. Quoted from her father, "The thought of drifting through life as a prissy, airheaded model made her sick." He knew he would like her if he actually met her. And now that was going to happen. He snapped out of his daze when Grissom walked in.

"She'll be here in an hour," Grissom announced.

Greg dropped the photo back onto the table and walked with Grissom to where they would talk to Tracy for the first time. Every now and then when they waited, Grissom would say things like, "Don't be insensitive" and "Don't be an ass," and then he'd say, "Just don't talk" and "Just be anyone but yourself."

After an hour of listening to Grissom's rules, Tracy Myers and her parents walked through the door.

Her spirit seemed shattered. Her eyes didn't have the same spark as they did in the picture. Her posture was completely terrible. Very un-model like. It blew Greg's mind to see the transformation this girl has made, just by what some terrible man has done.

She looked at Greg right in the eyes when she sat down. And I mean really looked into his eyes.

She seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, like a friend with some comfort for her, something she forgot the meaning of. It was the most intense stare Greg had ever gotten. He was utterly baffled by this girl. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

* * *

A/N: Pleeeeease review my story... it may not be the greatest... I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes. Plus, it is my first real story. Thanks for reading, anyway. I'll only continue if you review. 


	2. Miss Myers

"So Miss Myers," Grissom said, clearing his throat, "Please explain to us how you were kidnaped. You can take as long as you want if you like."

"It's Tracy," she said. It was the first time she spoke. Greg found her voice weak and tense.

She continued, "Well, it was about one in the morning, and I was staying up writing poetry on my online journal. I don't usually stay up so late, but I always have to write when I'm inspired. And that day was a good, rare and inspirational day. I was about to shut it down when... when someone placed a gloved hand over my mouth and forced me out of my chair. I bit his hand as hard as I could, but it was no use... the glove was just too thick."

She hung her head and a few tears escaped her eyes, falling straight to the floor. Greg focused on them so he wouldn't have to look at the state Tracy was in. He knew he was going to cry from her story, at least at the end of it.

"You sure you want to continue?" Her mother asked, squeezing her daughter's shoulder.

Tracy nodded and took in a shaky breath.

"H-he pulled me across the living room to the front door. My legs were kicking and flailing and I was clapping my hands in case someone might hear, but I doubted anyone would, since my parents were a whole floor up with their door closed shut."

"Why were you at your parent's house?" Greg asked before he could stop himself. His voice cracked, which surprised him.

"I was visiting," she answered, giving Greg the same intense stare.

His eyes drifted to her lips when she spoke and an image of his on hers floated into his mind. He erased it as quick as it came and hated himself for imaging such a thing.

"Please... continue," Grissom said, and looked at Greg with suspicion. He panicked as he thought that maybe there was an expression matching his thoughts and coughed uncomfortably.

"After I was dragged out of the house, he threw me down the steps and onto the sidewalk beside a large white mobile home. I tried to get up and run, but a lady of about 50 grabbed my wrists before I could move. She threw me into the mobile home, and the next thing I knew, we were driving off to somewhere I wasn't sure of. I remember crying and screaming at them and asking who they were, what they wanted with me and where they were taking me, but they didn't say a thing."

Her lower lip began to tremble and she hid her face with her hand and cried silently. After a few moments, Grissom was shifting in his seat and gave a quizzical look at Greg.

"You don't have to say anymore," Grissom said.

"No, no I want to," Tracy said, shaking. Her voice was hardly loud enough to hear. She opened her mouth to continue, but it only made her sob. Her father wrapped his arms around her and she cried into his chest.

Greg hung his head and turned to look at Grissom. His expression was the same.

"You can get back to us," Grissom said, "It's okay."

"Come on," Tracy's mother whispered.

Greg stood up and opened the door for the Myers family. Before leaving the room, Tracy looked at him once more.

"Well, that was pointless," Greg remarked, turning back to his usual self.

"What do you mean?" Grissom said, "We found out what vehicle she was kidnaped in, when and where it happened, and that there were two old folks. A man and a woman."

"Yeah, but she could have at least said a name," Greg said. He didn't like the way he sounded, but that was Greg. And he knew if he really said what he felt, people would... well, they would just think he was being an idiot.

"We'll get that eventually," Grissom said, walking to his office, "Patience, Greg, patience."

He waited until Grissom disappeared around the corner and gave a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Hey Greg, what's wrong?"

Nick's voice surprised Greg, and he turned around to face the speaker.

"Huh?" Greg said, blinking multiple times to snap out of his thoughts, "Uh... nothing."

"Yeah, okay," Nick said, looking at Greg as if to say "Nice try, but I know you too well."

"Really!" Greg exclaimed.

"Uh-uh," Nick said, shaking his head and crossing his arms, "Something's up with you."

"Well, you know that kidnaped victim that's just been found?" Greg asked, becoming very stressed with knots forming in his stomach.

"Yeah, I saw her leave, I passed her," Nick said, and began to get it, "Wait... you don't..."

He trailed off as Greg began to look very sheepish indeed.

"Greg, you horn dog!" Nick scolded, hitting Greg in the head with a folder he was carrying, "She's pretty, but she's kind of young... and way too emotional for your insensitivity."

Greg changed his mind about saying anything. He didn't even know how Nick could think something like that. He didn't like her... she was a kidnaped victim. It was too... weird.

"Nick, what the hell?" Greg said, "It's not like that, you idiot!"

"Then why do you look so... so dazed? Like how you used to look when you had 'the hots' for Sara?" Nick asked, grinning in sick amusement at his friend's red face. It was his turn for a slap in the head.

"I was just going to say that..." Greg said, racking his brain for an answer, "That the way she is now compared to the pictures and video tapes her parents showed us is so flabbergasting. Shocking."

He held his breath for Nick to reply.

"Yeah, it is. It's amazing what a person can do to someone, isn't it?"

Greg nodded.

"Yeah. It is." 


	3. Salt & Vinegar

A month had gone by and Tracy Myers still hadn't called CSI to come in and explain her kidnaping experience. They say that when something or someone very big or important to you stops or leaves you, it takes half the time that that thing happened to get over it. Tracy had only been kidnaped for six weeks when an idea came to her to escape the people who took her. It was then that Grissom lost it. 

"Go home, Greg," he ordered one, sunny April day. He and Greg were cooped up in the CSI headquarters, waiting for a call from Tracy, since it was the only case going on.

"What? But why?" Greg asked, "I want to wait for a call from her with you! You never know when that phone might ring."

"It's been far too long," Grissom insisted, "If she wanted to talk, she would've called by now. Besides, I'm sure you have some girlfriend to go home to. She wouldn't be very happy to find out that this was why you had to be at work and not with her."

"I don't have a girlfriend," Greg said in an annoyed tone.

"Really? Wow... I thought girls liked your immature jokes and mad scientist personality," Grissom said sarcastically.

"Fine, I'm gone," Greg said, storming out of the office, leaving Grissom with a smirk on his face and a crossword puzzle screaming at him to be finished.

When Greg pulled into his driveway at ten o'clock that night, he noticed something very peculiar about his house. The curtains on his large front window showing his living room were pulled completely open. Greg always shut them before leaving for work. And the lights in his house were on. Greg was positive that he shut them off when he left home. He walked up his driveway, pulled out his keys, opened his front door, shut it behind him, and stood as quiet and still as he could, looking around for any signs of another human being.

"Hello? Anyone here?" Greg shouted nervously, slowly stepping up the stairs to the living room.

With each step, the staircase would creak. He made a mental note to get that looked at.

All of a sudden, his ears picked up footsteps coming from his kitchen and then into his hallway, coming towards the staircase. Greg panicked. He pulled out his gun and waited three excruciating seconds for his robber to come around the corner.

"_Freeze_!" He yelled, thanking all of the police shows and movies he watched.

Standing in his house at the top of his stairway with a bag of potato chips taken from the kitchen–which Greg was saving for that night when he watched a pay-per-view movie–in fright with her hands up by her head leveled by bulging eyes was Tracy Myers. Greg slowly put his gun back into his holster, not taking his eyes off Tracy, not even blinking.

"I'm-I'm sorry," Tracy said, taking a step down the staircase and whipping out puppy eyes, "But I have a really good explanation."

"You must," Greg said, laughing nervously, "Let's hear it."

"I want to tell you what happened," Tracy explained, gulping, "Without my parents babying me. I was sick of them always arguing about me in front of me like I wasn't even there. I'm twenty-five, for God's sake."

"Wait... so they don't know you're here?" Greg asked.

Tracy shook her head like it didn't matter.

"So you didn't think that, after you were kidnaped, they'd be worried to death about you, enough to call the cops within minutes of your disappearance?" Greg asked.

"I told them I was at my boyfriend's house," Tracy said.

Greg tried his hardest not look disappointed, but he knew he blew it when he looked at the floor.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend, if that's what you were wondering," Tracy said, smiling.

Greg turned slightly pink.

Awkward silence followed.

"Sorry for eating your chips," Tracy laughed, picking up the half-eaten bag, "I just love Salt and Vinegar."

Greg looked up and smiled, "That's okay. I have more in my private stash." He walked up to where Tracy was standing, expecting her to move. She didn't budge, making Greg have to stand in front of her with not an inch of space between them. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and waddled into the open hallway.

After fetching two more chip bags of the same flavor, Greg and Tracy took a seat on his couch. He reminded himself why she was there and put the chips aside. She made a reaching and grabbing motion in the air, obviously saying she wanted those chips.

Greg waved his finger at her the way a teacher would to a misbehaving student.

"One chip for each sentence of your story."

Tracy sighed and nodded.

"Well, after I got in the mobile home," she said, fidgeting with the fringes of a pillow she was holding in her arms like a teddy bear, "the kidnapers threw tape at me and told me to tape my legs and hands up–it's almost impossible to tape your hands up, by the way–and tape my mouth perfectly so it won't come off, or they'll burn me."

Greg scowled, "Hell is empty; all the devils are here."

"Shakespeare," Tracy replied, nodding, "I'm impressed."

Greg smiled sheepishly. Very uncomfortable silence followed, mostly from Tracy's sentence.

"Chip, please," Tracy said.

"Right," Greg said, opening a bag between them to share the sacred smell with her. She tossed her clutched pillow aside. Greg vowed never to wash it.

"Mmm..." Tracy said, closing her eyes, "I just looove that new chip smell."

"Yeah," Greg agreed, not daring to stare at Tracy, who was in his living room, sharing his couch, and "Mmm"ing in pleasure. Not to mention flirting like crazy after being kidnaped, raped and tortured four weeks ago.

"Anyway," Tracy continued, getting back to her insecure side, "After spending ten long minutes taping myself up, the road got bumpy. I looked out the window–with difficulty from having no hands or legs–and saw that we were driving through the forest. It seemed that it was an old, abandoned campsite."

"That's three chips," Greg interrupted. No matter how much he wanted to catch the people who put her through this, he certainly did not want to hear her story.

"Right," Tracy said in a perky tone.

Greg took a handful and stuffed a few into his mouth.

"Gondinue," Greg muttered, a hand covering his mouth.

"Oh, that's attractive," she chuckled, stealing a chip when Greg turned away to laugh with a full mouth.

Greg took one large gulp and motioned for her to continue, which was what "Gondinue" meant.

"Start counting," Tracy said, "After about a half hour, which was about two-thirty in the morning, we stopped at a large opening where a run-down cottage was. They threw me out of the back and onto the dirt floor. They walked inside the cottage. They told me to crawl inside after them. They shut the door on me. I had to open it with my arm. They threw me in a room. There were spiders. There were cobwebs. The roof looked like it was about to cave in."

Greg grinned devilishly, "I know you're chopping up your sentences, you clever child."

She copied his grin, "What can I say? I'll do anything for a chip."

Anything, huh? Greg thought in the far back of his mind.

"Oh, well... ten chips, all the same," Greg sighed.

They were trying to sound as casual as possible, but you could tell that they were going through torture with their conversation in their eyes. Both of them wanted to just talk about random things like normal people would.

"There was nothing in the room. No bed. No clothes. No food. And the roof was going to cave. I had nothing. A tank top and pajama bottoms with a taped mouth and hands."

Greg kept shoving chips into his mouth to get rid of the agonizing look that was growing on his face. His heart broke just by looking at her.

"I stayed awake that night. Didn't drowse off once. I didn't want to wake up dead. I mean, I didn't want to never wake up again. The sun peeked through the soggy, wooded roof around seven, I think. I had multiple spider bites. I had to watch the spiders bite me because I didn't have hands, legs or a mouth to scream to get them off."

Greg forgot about the chips. He stared at her with a wide mouth and wide eyes. She only smiled at his expression and looked at the floor. She was obviously used to this reaction from people.

"Here, I'll make it easier for you," Greg said, "I'll ask you questions that'll really matter in court and we can nail these people. Aim for the death penalty."

Tracy shook her head, "They're not good enough for that. They deserve to live in prison and die alone, behind bars, in the same pain I went through, this time much, much longer."

"Good thinking," Greg said, "So is it okay if I ask you questions?"

"Yeah," Tracy accepted, "At the moment, I trust you more than anyone."

Greg smiled, "Good."

You know how it goes.

"So do you know the names of these fiends?" Greg asked, dodging the word "people," since these people are anything but to a sensible person.

"Timothy and Jenny Schlatter," Tracy answered, shivering, "I hate those names." "So do I," Greg agreed, probably for her reasons only, "Were you raped?"

These words were choked out. The sound of them paralyzed him. The thought of Tracy being raped almost tortured him. They seemed to torture her too.

She nodded gravely.

"Um..." Greg said, shifting his eyes over to the fireplace, "Do you think there'd be any evidence of... of rape?"

She nodded again and wiped away a tear angrily.

Greg's hesitation on his next question was recognized by Tracy.

"It's okay, I'm fine," Tracy insisted, but Greg didn't want to, "Really."

"Were you... um..." Greg began, with much difficulty, "How were you tortured."

Tracy thought about this, which made Greg feel even more sick.

"Burned, whipped, bitten, cut, suffocated with an inch of dying, emotionally put down..."

"What do you mean by 'emotionally put down'?" Greg asked, although he knew exactly what she meant. For some reason, that was sicker than the rest.

"They told me that they were saving me by kidnaping me. My old life was terrible and everyone didn't love me. They didn't care about me. That they were the only ones who cared and they were saving me. I was better off with them. They said they were sent from God to save me."

She looked at him, saw his warm, loving brown eyes, and decided to continue, "I almost began to believe them. Maybe they were sent from God. I was confused. On the brink of insanity."

"Well... you know they're lying, right?" Greg said, searching for his answer in her eyes, "Your parents will love you, no matter how much they fight. They're fighting for what's best for you. Don't let some psychotic freaks trick you into believing something else. They tortured you. Putting you down is–"

"Greg! It's okay, I know," Tracy said, putting a hand over his mouth, "Why do you think I escaped? I'm not stupid!"

Before Greg knew what he was doing, he was wrapping his arms around her and holding her head into his chest.

"Um... Greg?" Tracy said suddenly.

"Uh, yeah," Greg replied, looking down.

"We squished the chips," she laughed, picking them up.

"Oh, well, that's okay," Greg said, picking up the unopened bag, "Those can just be yours."

He sat on the other side of the couch and turned the TV on.

"Yeah right," Tracy said, and she pounced.

The next thing Greg knew, he was being tickled by a girl. Unfortunately for Greg, it was a weakness of his. Soon enough, Tracy ended up on top of Greg, who was laughing and squirming, extremely humiliated. When she stopped, there was a silence. Tracy was leaning in, so Greg put two and two together and closed his eyes to kiss her. But suddenly, her arm snapped forward and grabbed the chips.

"Aha!" Tracy shouted, laughing and flipping back up and into a sitting position on the couch.

Greg wasn't going to give up so easily. He shot his hand out quickly and attempted–notice this word–to grab the chips. Tracy pulled them out of his reach, and so Greg did the obvious. He pinned her back down, on the other end of the couch.

He stopped when Tracy let out a yelp.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" Greg asked, sitting back up on the couch.

She had her hands over her shoulders, but she shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," Tracy muttered.

"No, you're not," He said, smirking.

"It's nothing. Just a couple of bruises," She mumbled, looking down.

"If there's one flaw about you, Tracy, it's that you're a terrible liar," Greg said.

She looked up, trying to look hurt by this, but took off the sweatshirt she was wearing anyway and had a tank top on, which revealed bruises on her shoulders, cuts on her wrists, and burn marks in between. It had been a whole month since she escaped from her kidnapers, but they must have been really bad to stay on her skin. Greg's mouth was open in awe. There were so many abuse marks.

"Tracy, with this evidence, we could put these guys in jail for life, the way you wanted," Greg said, choking his words out.

"Yeah, I know," Tracy said, keeping her eyes on her jeans.

He reached forward and touched her arms carefully. She didn't flinch. He traced down to her wrists.

"Who... who were these m-made by?" Greg asked, talking about the cuts.

"Not them," Tracy said, keeping her eyes on her jeans.

She went back to looking as fragile as ever, like the first day they met. Just a couple minutes ago, she was laughing.

"Tracy..." Greg trailed off, touching her cheek and wiping a few tears away with his thumb, "It's alright. I understand."

He wasn't expecting Tracy to just fall into his arms like she did. She squeezed him tight, like the pillow she was holding before. Greg held her back. And the truth was, he didn't want to let her go. But he had to. And soon. Because what Greg didn't know was that Grissom was walking up his front steps.


End file.
